The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

This week, Little E's class is learning about their different body parts. At the dinner table, Little E was eager to show off his newfound anatomy knowledge. MOM. THE BRAIN IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF YOUR BODY. As he proclaimed the brain's importance, he pointed dramatically at his heart. His face beamed with pride and I just didn't have the heart (see what I did there) to correct him.

During a recent weight watchers meeting, a lady described how she used spaghetti squash to replace spaghetti in her recipes.  If this was for real, this would be a jackpot for the Yoys. Big E would be content manhandling his way through a giant bowl of buttery spaghetti for every meal until eternity. The problem is, it has zero nutritional value.  But if I can get him to eat a steaming bowl of squash disguised as spaghetti, that would be the greatest mind game I've ever played on him. So I bought the spaghetti squash about ten days ago.  I put it in my fruit bowl and let it intimidate me for about a week.  I'm no Bobby Flay and the thought of cooking something new was daunting. But not for Mr. Yoy, who threw that thing in the oven last night and we had "pasta" with our chicken and brussel sprouts. I reheated the remainder of the squash for dinner tonight.  I threw on a little butter and parmesan and presented it to the Yoys. UH, WHAT IS THAT? Big E...

Saturday night was date night. Mr. Yoy and I hit up a foot spa before gorging ourselves at Local Three. Mr. Yoy and I sat side by side as we had our foot massages.  I had almost passed out when my foot rubber began whispering to me.  There are other people in the room so talking is a no-no. IN A WHISPER: WHERE ARE YOU FROM? I came out of my coma to process his question. FLORIDA. Wrong answer for this guy. WHERE ARE YOU FROM, ORIGINALLY? He must have heard tinges of my mother tongue, the Midwestern accent. OH, ST. LOUIS. Still, not the answer he was looking for. NO, WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?  I TOLD MY FRIEND YOU WERE EASTERN EUROPEAN. This guy was going all ancestry.com on me.  Good thing I've done my research. YES, MY FAMILY IS FROM THE UKRAINE. He was pleased with this answer and told me how beautiful I was.  I guess he didn't realize my husband was sitting next to me or maybe he thought he could whisper it and not get into trouble...

This morning I put the Yoys on the school bus for the first time. Mr. Yoy usually drives the kids to school.  It is the only time he sees them during the school week.  But Mr. Yoy is out of town and so I planted the school bus seed with the boys last night.  And they were amped. The problem is, the bus comes early.  7:09 to be precise.  The boys usually are ready to go around 7:30.  So we would lose 21 precious morning minutes.  These 21 morning minutes translate to hours in real people time.  There is peeing and dressing and teeth brushing and eating and packing that all need to be done in a short amount of time.  I'm usually sweating by the time Mr. Yoy backs the car out of the driveway. This morning I popped out of bed when the alarm went off at 6:30.  I threw on my workout clothes and went in to wake Big E first. GOOD MORNING, BIG E! I heard a few groans and he threw his pillow over his head.   IF YOU DON...

We live in a very eclectic area of Atlanta.  After emerging from the Boca Raton cocoon, I've settled in an area where I see all sorts of crazy in my neighborhood and that's part of its charm. Our newest neighbor is a wild turkey.  And while some of my country readers may not think a turkey is that big of a deal, watching this turkey navigate the busy roads of Atlanta is pretty amazing. Lurkey Turkey, as he as been christened, even has his own Facebook page where you can keep track of the latest community sightings. Yesterday we drove by Lurkey hanging out in the parking lot of the local veterinarian's office, perhaps visiting some friends.  This is impressive as he managed to cross a six lane, heavily traveled road. This was the first time we've seen him in person.  The Yoys went bananas. IS THAT A REAL TURKEY? CAN WE CARVE HIM UP AND EAT HIM? (cover your ears, sweet Lurkey) They could not stop talking about the turkey. When Little E saw Mr. Yoy this ...

It's Friday night and since Mr. Yoy is STILL slaving away at the firm, I figured I'd do a little blogging. After school today, I took the Yoys to the YMCA for an end of summer pool party. We wasted the afternoon away at the pool.  And part of the evening.  I finally got the boys in the Y shower around 7. I had them jammied and was prepared for them to "accidentally" fall asleep on the short drive home. I got everyone situated in their car seats and put on some mood music.  Hello, classical! Now if only the sun would dive behind some clouds for the next fifteen minutes. As usual, my expectations were too grand.  The Yoys chatted away as we made the trek towards home.  There would be no sleeping. We arrived home, went upstairs to finish up bedtime and start reading. I thought I was golden when Big E pulled another Dinosaur book out.   WHY YES, I WOULD LOVE TO READ TO YOU (AGAIN) ABOUT HOW FOSSILS FORM IN MUD! I was nodding off duri...

Little E has an incredible imagination.  He is a fantastic storyteller at the ripe old age of four.  It is charming and adorable. Little E also has a six sense.  Apparently, he sees dead people.  His ghost tales began about a year ago.  In fact, it was a year ago yesterday that I wrote about it.  Look down.  See the goose bumps on your arms?  Please continue... Over the past 365 days I have become very familiar with the ghost that Little E saw on our stairs.  Pretty much everyone knows about it.  It's like this ghost is famous for being famous a la the Kardashians. Yesterday, Little E began to talk about the ghost again.  Lives on stairs, cries a ton, is white, yadda, yadda, yadda. Except he began telling me of a second ghost.  This one was sitting at the kitchen table with us.  He was a man with a mouth that would not talk or eat dinner. When I asked Little E what he was doing he looked at me with his best Polt...

Because the "p" is silent. Tonight's bedtime reading was a 1980s, 40+ page, very small print, hardly any pictures, dinosaur book.  Or should I say novella? I snuggled into Big E's bed with the boys.  They smelled of lavender.  I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to inhale my sweet smelling children.  I, on the other hand, smelled of dried sweat, peanut butter, and bug spray.  What? Ain't nobody got time for that!  And by that, I'm referring to a shower. The Yoys didn't care.  We were about to dive off a cliff into a pool of prehistoric knowledge and they were amped! It wasn't until we had blown through the pages about how fossils form (no wonder they went straight to bed) that I began a spiraling descent into frustration and madness. I could not, COULD NOT, read the dinosaurs' names, even with the phonetic spelling.  I felt like someone had shot a tranquilizer directly into my tongue.  The chewing gum didn't help.  So I swa...

I know you are all on the edge of your seats, just waiting to hear about the Yoys' first day of school. I received very little detail from Big E.  Only because I'm an amateur PI, did I discover they played with play-doh, as it was all over his khaki shorts.  He was happy at the end of the day and that's all that matters. Little E also had a great day which included not sleeping during his class's nap time.  This is a crucial nugget of info, as a nap would murder my dreams of a 7PM bedtime. I peppered him with questions. DID YOU HAVE FUN? WHAT DID YOU EAT FOR BREAKFAST? DO YOU LIKE YOUR TEACHERS? Little E gave me pretty standard answers.  I wanted some juicy pre-k gossip, but Little E was not the source I was looking for. DID YOU MAKE ANY FRIENDS? He perked up with this question and emphatically shook his head yes. WHO? Little E thought about it for a minute. SHE WAS WEARING A BLUE SHIRT! Sweet.  Everyone wears a blue shirt because they ...

Tomorrow is a big day.  I am both excited and anxious.  I may not sleep. Little E will join his brother this year at the "big kid" school, our local elementary school.  He will be attending pre-k, just like Big E did last school year. I know I shouldn't make comparisons between the two, but I will candidly admit I am 1000x more nervous to release Little E into public school than I was with Big E. Big E had been ready for the big leagues since he was about two.  That kid is in heaven with a ton of people, especially new people where he can work his magic. But Little E is a baby.  My baby.  He is young for his grade.  His is petite.  I am not exaggerating when I say a little girl in his class is a full eight inches taller than him.  (I checked her for high heels.)  He is sensitive.  And he hugs and loves you. Deeply. And I'm worried he'll get eaten alive by the bigger kids. I had a therapy session with his teacher on Friday ...

I usually avoid taking the Yoys to Costco like I avoid the Ebola patient recovering cross-town at Emory. (Too soon?!) But after being gone almost two weeks, our fridge was reminiscent of a food desert and I had to suck it up and go.  With Yoys in tow.  I was hoping for the worst, while expecting the worse, because I am all about setting attainable life goals. We arrived at Costco promptly at ten.  I want a minimal amount of witnesses to our adventure.  Before we exited the car, I set some rules.  Really just one rule. We are not perusing the book aisle.  We have a two foot stack of learning books just waiting to be completed and I'm not enabling this learning book hoarder thing the two of them have going on. Big E emphatically agrees.  Little E waffles back and forth.  I fake like I'm going to leave and that motivates him to agree with me. We zip through Costco in about fifteen minutes.  I am a well oiled shopping machine. ...

This past month I completed my first solo airplane ride with the Yoys.   The boys are usually pretty well behaved on the plane.  I bring their Leap Pads, learning books, cards, snacks that I would never feed them at sea level and all sorts of small surprises.  The 75 minute flight to Florida would be cake.  And it was. I strategically planned the luggage situation so that I would be able to get all the luggage and the boys and their surprise-laden backpacks to the park-n-ride shuttle. I brought a giant suitcase and a smaller bag that would hook onto the suitcase. I'd drag that, my purse, and the backpacks all while holding a sticky hand to the shuttle.  It would be slightly difficult, but I'm supermom and I had this. After deplaning, we had to stop not once, but twice for Little E to use the bathroom.  And that was without a train ride as we arrived at Terminal T. (This was a major problem.  Both boys held back tears as I told them we wo...